


Empty Space

by orphan_account



Series: Empty Space [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amazing exes, College, Creepy scene that stuck in my mind, Cucumber Sandwiches, Depressing half of less depressing whole, Exposure, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I know nothing of police procedure, Kidnapping, Law School, Left for Dead, Missing Persons, Now with added immigration law!, POV Third Person, Powerless (miniseries), revealing secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 17:45:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4401377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*EDITED*<br/>I decided I didn't like the tone of this story relative to the sequel so the off-camera assault has been transformed into blackmail.  This was my compromise instead of taking this down outright.</p><p>Inspired by a chilling scene in the miniseries Powerless, wherein a powerless Matt is abducted, driven out of the city and abandoned in a cornfield.  He gets back to the city (somehow) but is totally broken.  This was me applying that concept to college-aged MCU Matt.  It diverged and got a lot darker than I'd intended.  Warmer, fluffier, part II to follow!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. POV: Foggy

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning of things I am not an expert in: posting fanfiction, exposure, dehydration, sexual assault survivors, where there are large fields in Pennsylvania, police procedure, Misty and Colleen's characterization outside the 70s Hero For Hire series, being a black woman in America, being a cop, missing persons cases, abducting people, hospital procedure, survival tactics, busting out of zipties, tagging, writing comments. If you have personal experience in anything I have horribly misrepresented, tell me and I will do my best to correct that.

He shouldn't have walked out. The thought occurs to him as soon as he sits down on his own bed. Safe at home and still sweating in the chill of their over air-conditioned house. He shouldn't have walked out.

He had every right to be mad. Matt had lied to him. Worse, he'd played along and pretended he didn't know every time Foggy had lied to him. And he could see. Kinda sorta. He hadn't really stayed for the details before throwing Matt's spare key in his face and walking out.

Which, yeah, he could see why that had been a terrible idea. But that was a full year as roommates and best friends and Matt hadn't even thought to tell him any of this shit until the middle of July?

Of course he'd thought of it. He'd waited until the day before Foggy was leaving for the family reunion on the Outer Banks. Every word in the first part of his confession had been so carefully picked out, so deliberate that Foggy refused to believe it hadn't been rehearsed. Of course, it had gone off the rails pretty quick when he mentioned heartbeats and Foggy had started yelling and yeah, he shouldn't have walked out. They were supposed to have one great day together before Foggy went to the beach and abandoned Matt to his tutoring job and the blistering heat of summer in New York. Probably Matt had planned for this, putting the confession the day before he left, during the summer when they weren't living together.

He was giving him an out. If Foggy walked away and didn't come back, got himself a new roommate, it was the least painful time of year to do that.

He was giving him an in. If, after a week, Foggy was willing to forgive him he could just walk back and say, “Hey Matt, sorry I cut you off. Tell me everything, I promise I'll listen.”

He wasn't feeling that yet but he bet by the end of the week he could get there. Forgiving Matt Murdock, human distaster, human lie-detector, crazy-senses dude. Roommate, best friend. He'd waited a year to tell Foggy, this was probably everything he'd been afraid of happening.

“You know how we promised no secrets? I haven't exactly been keeping up my end of that agreement.” He'd flinched when Foggy stood up like he'd expected Foggy to hit him and that image kept on running through his mind.

He wasn't ready to forgive Matt yet. But he left him a message on his phone, a brief “Sorry I freaked out, we'll talk when I get back home, don't do anything stupid” message. Matt didn't pick up.

The drive to North Carolina was unbelievably long. It wasn't any longer than the last time, but he'd been younger then and more excited about beaches and barbeques and open space. Less worried about his roommate. He'd taken the night to process and decided he probably wouldn't have told Matt right away, had their positions been reversed. It was some fairly unbelievable Captain America level craziness. He wouldn't have waited ten months. But he probably wouldn't have just jumped in with super-senses.

At some point the good radio flickered out and was replaced by gospel and country and one fuzzy station of classic rock that buzzed in and out of focus. He wondered how much longer he would get to go with his parents on these vacations. At what age were you expected to chip in financially? He took a turn driving and tried to keep up the banter when they switched that traitor radio off entirely. He did a running commentary all through Candace's turn at the wheel. He didn't call Matt until they were unpacked and everyone had gone down to the beach.

“I'll be down in a minute, just want to make a call.”

His mom nodded, understanding. “Tell Matthew we all wish he could have come. Linda will be arriving in another half hour, if you're still here show her how we're dividing up the rooms.”

Matt doesn't pick up. Foggy's message is longer and a good bit calmer.

“...hey, I'm not going to say I understand. But I want to understand, Matt. I want to understand and then this is all going to work out.”

 

* * *

 

 

He leaves a message every day. Matt never picks up. He builds sand castles with the little cousins, Jerome and Hailey and Naomi and all them. He goes out wading and wave jumping with them. He plays board games and does puzzles inside, the day when the jellyfish are out in force and everybody gets stung. He drinks with his older cousins and Candace, goes out to a bar where they do line dancing and it's awful. He chases little crabs at night with Jerome and walks early mornings along the water to get doughnuts for the whole family with his mother. He doesn't tell anyone about his fight with Matt because he can't think of a reason they would have fought without mentioning Matt's secret. And that would be wrong.

But he's getting worried, so Wednesday morning he tries Matt's number again. No answer. Matt doesn't have a lot of friends. It's with a guilty sinking feeling that he admits Matt doesn't have any other friends. That, with how he left, he might think he doesn't have any friends right now. Gods, he should have gone back and apologized that night. Matt isn't always stable, what if he did something stupid and dramatic and what if he's hurt and that's why he's not answering?

Matt doesn't have any friends, but he has plenty of exes. Foggy calls up Misty.

Misty was great. She was a police officer. She was tough and cool and they'd met at a bar off-campus. Matt and her had dated for two weeks, tops, but it had been an amicable split. Matt had been smiling the day they broke up, wouldn't tell Foggy why. Smiled like it was some great joke. But he still had her number in his phone from that awful double date. So he called up Misty.

“Hey, it's Misty.” She sounded out of breath. Interrupted a workout? Chasing down a suspect?

“It's Foggy – Matt's friend?”

“Oh, yeah. You.” That wasn't a positive tone. Not negative, just neutral. Fair enough, they'd barely met. “You need something?”

Good guess. “I'm out of the city right now and Matt's not answering his phone. We had a bit of a fight, so I'm not sure if he's just ignoring me or if there's something wrong. Could you try calling him and see if he's okay?”

There was mumbling on the other side of the line, Misty talking to someone in low tones with her hand held over the speaker. She cut back in with, “No problem. I'll do that now and call you back in a bit. And only because I owe Matt for his great advice.”

“Isn't looking out for vulnerable citizens part of your civic duty? You're a cop. Wait, what great advice?”

“Didn't Matt tell you why we broke up?” Misty said with a satisfied chuckle.

“...No?”

“Well, I get to the restaurant he'd picked out. And my roommate Colleen is there, sitting our table. And Matt says, 'You are an amazing woman, Misty Knight. Unfortunately, I don't think it would be right to keep on pretending you're interested in me.' And whispers in my ear, 'she loves you back, go get her.' And he was right.  Wow am I glad somebody set that up because we would have been circling round each other for years. A nice dinner on someone else's tab was exactly what we needed to get over ourselves.”

“Congratulations?”

“Thanks man. Hang on, I'll call Matt and tell him thanks myself.”

She hangs up and Foggy is left with the mental image of Matthew Murdock, matchmaker extraordinaire. She could have been having sex with Colleen when he called. Nope, not thinking about that. Does Matt set up all of his exes with their true loves? That would explain how none of his relationships last long enough to see the full moon twice.

Foggy had made himself an omelet and a cup of coffee and downed both before Misty called back. “Hey, I think something's up.”

“He didn't answer?”

“Nope, no answer. So I called Maxine, she lives in the building where Matt's subletting and has a huge crush on him. The short girl with the red bob and the freckles? Anyway, she couldn't remember seeing him all week, thought he was on vacation or something.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, I still have a key from when we were dating. Been meaning to give it back to him. Me and Colleen could swing by and see how things look at the apartment?”

“Could you, please?”

“Yeah, no problem. I'll call you back.”


	2. POV: Misty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misty and Colleen go and investigate

Matt's apartment was the neatest one-room broom closet she'd ever visited. By the time she'd dragged Colleen out of bed and they'd gotten dressed and maybe dragged each other back into bed for a one last kiss it was later than she'd have liked. And they had to stop and make tea and Colleen needed breakfast, but she tried not to rush. This wasn't an emergency, she reminded herself. This was a quick check on an ex-boyfriend whose roommate had gotten in a tiff with him and now regretted it. Drama. Maybe Matt stepped on his phone. Maybe he was locked in his room brooding. Matt was good at brooding. But there was no sign of him and not many places to hide.

It was neat, but not exactly clean. It didn't look like he'd gone off on a long journey. There were dishes in the sink and by the smell they'd probably been there awhile. Matt was compulsive about dishes, from what she remembered. They'd only been on two dates, not counting that last one. But a bit compulsive. His books were all on his desk. There was a half empty glass of water on his desk. She tried not to touch anything. This could be a crime scene. The door was locked and it looked like, for all intents and purposes, Matt had just gone on a walk.

Most of a week ago.

A blind guy goes on a walk after getting into a fight with his, apparently only, friend and then disappears.

“This feels wrong,” Colleen said. “Want me to ask around?”

“Yeah, do that. I think I should probably file a report at the precinct,” she said after a long pause. There weren't any clues as to where Matt had gone. He hadn't written a note. His phone and wallet were presumably on his person. There was no obvious direction to go.

 

* * *

 

 

His wallet was not on his person. It was the first piece of evidence they could put towards this being a missing persons case. Someone had found it in the street and brought it into the precinct, where they had assumed it was merely lost. They had tried his listed phone number. No answer. Which was getting predictable. Nothing missing out of it, not even cash. Somehow that made it feel more sinister.

 

* * *

 

Foggy – what kind of name was Foggy, she really should have asked that earlier – didn't like this new development. Whatever they'd fought over he seemed really broken up about.

“Just stuff. Personal stuff. He knew some secrets of mine and hadn't told me. I kinda blew up and damn, where would he have gone?”

“We don't know yet. But we're going to find out.”

Most missing persons cases were never solved.

 

* * *

 

 

Colleen didn't find out much, but what she did find out was enlightening. “He talked to a priest a couple nights before he disappeared.”

“About what?”

“Well, he was reluctant to tell me at first, but with Matt being missing I persuaded him. Don't think he'd be willing to talk to law enforcement directly, though.”

“Okay.” Religious exemptions drove Misty nuts. She wasn't particularly religious, she didn't get it and she didn't want to. The law is the law is the law. Priest or not.

“Anyway, the story was he had heard was that one of his tutoring students was being blackmailed by one of her exes. He was extorting her using her citizenship. And he wasn't sure what his moral responsibility was. He'd tried to talk her into going to the police, but that she didn’t want to. He wanted to confront the guy directly, but wasn't sure how far to insert himself in the situation.”

“Not Foggy.” Misty said, doubtfully. They'd gotten in a fight right before Matt disappeared. But he'd called Misty.

“No, some fraternity dude.”

“That narrows it down.” There were lots of those. “Did the priest give him any inspirational advice?”

Colleen shrugged. “He didn't say. But when Matt left he was planning on talking to fraternity leadership, let them know about their rotten apple and see what they could do about it.”

“Well, there's motive, right there,” Misty said. “If this guy, about whom we know nothing except he's in a fraternity somewhere in this city, thought Matt was going to go to the police and report him, then what?”

“I bet things got ugly.”


	3. POV: Matt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt wanders

It didn't hurt, really. He hadn't fought back and his Dad would have been proud. Maybe he'd get to meet Dad soon.

He was lying. It actually hurt quite a bit. Lying was becoming compulsive and he really needed to stop. Lying was a sin. More than that, he'd hurt Foggy and now he'd never trust him again and-

Breathe.

Think.

Mind, not fists.

He was going to make it. He just had to believe it and it would happen, because the mind controls the body.

He'd never really been out of the city, certainly not since the accident. But from the oppressive quiet, the lack, he was certain he was far from Hell's Kitchen. It wasn't silent, there was the swish of grasses and humming insects and birds crying that went straight to his headache. There were more of the grasses crushed under him. They itched. He was only wearing underwear and he was absurdly grateful for that one luxury. They'd tied his hands and ankles with zip ties, but he was pretty sure he could get out of them if he put his mind to it.

Feeling for the grasses underneath him, he felt at the shape, struggling with it for a moment. Wheat, maybe? Some sort of grain. Was he in a field? The swishing carried in all directions and reported back, yes probably. Fields had farmers. Someone would see him and help.

Logically, he ought to be able to squeeze out of the ties. Or break them. Matt worked on that for a couple of minutes. Maybe a couple of hours. They'd taken his watch and his glasses and he definitely wouldn't be getting those back. Eventually he succeeded in snapping the ones around his ankles, but it was definitely going to add to the collection of bruises. Not worth it with his wrists. Not worth the effort.

He couldn't pick up any road sounds, but as long as he went straight, this field must intersect a road or a house or a driveway somewhere. So he put the sun to his back, it had fallen a bit and it must be past midday, and started shuffling.

Thirsty. They'd driven overnight, the night before he'd had a glass of water before heading to the meeting. Half a glass of water. He'd left it sitting on the table, half finished. Matt spent some time imagining that water. Cool. Chlorinated. Traces of metal and pvc. Cool and wet and sliding down his throat and he was starting to feel a bit dizzy. His throat hurt worst of all and now his ribs felt fine and his skin still itched and burned and it was hot but at least he could focus it all in on his throat and pretend that was the only thing wrong.

What if he was going the wrong way?

 

* * *

 

The sun set but he didn't stop. He was getting weaker. He was so tired, every step dragged and caught on the stalks. With the night came cold and wet, dew stuck to him and the grains. Night sounded different here. The wind whistled at him, blowing mainly from his left and he used that to orient himself. At least it was cool.

At some point it occurred to him, sleep addled and desperate, that dew is water and water is wonderful and he cuts his tongue trying to get to the dew. Wheat is scratchy and prickly and he can't get enough to be worth the effort. He stands and stumbles, blood rushing to his feet and spinning him around before his heart can pump it back up. His heart pumps faster than usual. Faster. Faster. It makes a drumbeat, spurring him onwards.

He has to get to the road.


	4. POV: Nadia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This features a random farmer as a POV character because no canon characters are awake and present. I got kinda attached to Nadia, so sorry if she comes off as an angel sent from heaven.
> 
> The paramedics may or may not be named after Harvey and Janet, the best Hellfire Club guards. There are lots of bit parts in this story. I struggle with names.

Nadia was on the road early on Tuesday morning. She'd promised her sister that she could take their father to his appointment. The kids could mind the farm for the day, Dad deserved to have somebody with him. It was going to be another hot day, according to the cheery radio announcer.

There was something in the road, stretched out across the white line. Shit. Nadia slammed on the break, her seatbelt strap cut into her shoulder as she stopped. She stared out the windshield for a moment, just breathing, until the thought connected with her brain. That was a person. Scrabbling at her seatbelt, she grabbed her phone and got out.

It was a man, dressed only in black boxers. He was sunburned, red as a lobster, skin peeling grotesquely. His arms were held behind his back, were those zipties? Nadia sat down to check his pulse, close enough to make out bruises and blood under the sunburn. His eyes were open, but unfocused.

“Okay.” She said. “Give me a minute.”

She called her dad first, an abrupt call of less than thirty seconds. “Dad, I found somebody on the road who needs an ambulance. I'll be there late.”

“I'll move the appointment. Do your thing,” he said. A bit of worry in his voice.

Next call to 911. “I've got a stranger on the road, unconscious, victim of assault and exposure. I'm on Ewing road, halfway between the Harrison's farm and the interstate exit-”

It was fifteen minutes before the ambulance got there. In the meantime, phone on speaker, Nadia had gone back to the car and fetched out her emergency blanket for wintertime emergencies and lain it over the stranger. On second thought, he was just a kid. Maybe twenty-five. Probably not. She had a bottle of water in the car, but couldn't rouse him enough for him to drink it. Still, he was burning up so she pulled off her t-shirt and used some of the water to wash off his face, dribbling it into his mouth in tiny drips. The sun was already growing unpleasantly warm, sizzling her shoulders where the tank didn't cover.

A driver pulled up from the other direction, then stopped to figure out what was going on. One of the Walters kids. He pulled off to the side when she explained the ambulance was coming, but neither of them tried moving the stranger. He must have crawled there, deliberately into the center of the road. Henry Walters found the place where the hay field had been trampled, a path off into the distance. He climbed on the cab of his truck and said he couldn't see the end of the trail. “He's not local, that's for sure,” Henry said conversationally.

Nadia was relieved when the EMTs arrived; Janet and Harvey. They took the stranger off her hands and promised they'd call her as they knew he was stable. Janet was Nadia's sister-in-law, she was reliable and Nadia felt okay driving the rest of the way to her dad's house. He'd pushed back the appointment two hours, but they still had to go see the chemo doctor that day. They sat on the couch and drank iced tea and didn't talk much until it was time to go. She'd meant to come and comfort him, and there he was holding her up. Just like old times.

The call came a couple hours later. They were still in the hospital, but it was mostly wrapping up. “Could I come sit with him?” Nadia asked. “They haven't found his next of kin yet, right?”

“He hasn't woken up to tell us his name,” Janet said. “The police took pictures to send around. But the doctor says he should recover.”

“How long was he out there?”

“A couple of days, can't say precisely. He could have died, that's what's sure. Tough little bugger.”

They decided someone ought to sit with the stranger. Nadia took second shift, after she got Dad home and called the kids and got them to make dinner. Janet took first shift. They roped in a couple of ladies from Janet's church and Mac – who was already in the hospital with two broken legs and had no trouble making time to sit with their sleeping stranger.

Nadia was taking her second stretch sitting with him when the stranger woke up, woke up and was lucid for the first time she'd seen. The doctor had mentioned, casually, amongst the listed symptoms that the man was unresponsive to light. Blind. That was part of the waiting. How awful to wake up alone and hurting and unable to figure where you were?

He woke with a start and the heart monitor practically doubled on the spot. Nadia closed her book and scooted her chair a bit closer. He flinched away from the sound.

“Hey, don't worry. You're at a hospital, you're safe. You're going to be alright. My name's Nadia Bhandari. I'm going to page the nurse to let them know you're awake, okay?” She spaced each sentence with a generous pause, giving him time to breathe, which he did with ragged breaths that slowed, barely, imperceptibly.

“Foggy?” That can't have been what he said. Maybe not as lucid as she thought. Or maybe she just couldn't understand, his voice was still ragged and hoarse. Poor dear.

“Can you tell us your name, dear?”

“Matt,” he said in a breath. Another breath. “Murdock. Foggy?”

“I don't know what you're asking, Matt. But the nurse will be along in a moment.”

She wanted to take his hand, but it was burned and scraped and it probably hurt, so she didn't. The nurse whirled in and when she realized Matt was answering questions had Gerald (the hospital's on-shift policeman) on route. He was awake. He, no, Matt was going to be okay.

Nadia wondered what a foggy was and whether they would transfer Matt to a hospital wherever he was from. She wondered when Mac was coming by to take her place. She hated long nights in the hospital.


	5. POV: Foggy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit rambling and dialogue heavy. It's possible that you wouldn't be allowed to put yourself off painkillers in this situation. Ignore that.

Misty called him that night, a little past midnight. “They've found Matt,” she said. “He's alive. He's in a hospital in Pennsylvania.”

“What?” So many questions. “Why is he in a hospital?”

“You're not going to like this,” Misty said. Foggy finally connected, brain sleepy and not good at processing emotions, that Misty was spitting mad. Clipped tones, voice shaky, whole works.

“Tell me,” Foggy whispered. He climbed out of bed and into the hall, making for the kitchen. He was going to wake everyone up, but best wait until after the call was over.

“Physically, he's mainly suffering from exposure. Severe dehydration, serious sunburn, malnutrition. But before that, someone, or a lot of someones, beat him.”

“Matt?” This did not compute. He was sure Matt had wandered off somewhere, somewhere he felt safe and was hiding there away from Foggy and who the hell would touch Matt Murdock?

“He has two broken ribs, a black eye and a hell of a lot of bruising, especially around his wrists and ankles. Where they apparently saw fit to restrain him with zip ties.”

Foggy couldn't speak. Everything was stuck in his throat.

“He's going to be okay, Foggy. He's going to be okay. He's in the hospital, none of it is life threatening. Well, it could have been. But the doctors say he's stubborn as hell and that he's going to pull through and be just fine.”

“Why haven't they called me?”

“Foggy, this is me, calling you. As a representative of the police. I thought it would be best if I called, even though this is definitely not my department.”

“Oh.”

“Foggy, he's asking for you.”

“What?” He downed his glass of water, which wasn't helping with his shaking hands. This was the sort of thing that happened to other people. The sort of thing that shouldn't happen to people like Matt. Plus, didn't Matt just tell him he had super senses? How did this happen to people with super senses?

“Only thing he's said, besides his name, is yours. They've puzzled out some of it. He was abducted Friday night, driven out to PA and dropped off in some farmer's field. One of those hundreds of acres farms. He walked to the nearest road and collapses, some good Samaritan called for an ambulance. We're not sure on the who or the why or the timeline because he's not talking.”

“Are they going to move him?”

“Not right away. Like I said, he's not that bad off physically. He should be all right to release in a couple of days. You're his emergency medical contact, did you know that?”

“Yeah.”

“I can't get tomorrow off, but me and Colleen are taking the train down to be there by Friday.”

“I'll be there.”

 

* * *

 

He wakes up Mom first. He's in tears at that point and it takes a bit for her to figure out what's going on, but it's not more than half an hour before everybody is up and negotiating how the cars can be redistributed so that he and Mom can drive up to Pennsylvania right then and everybody else can stay the last two days and turn in the house key on time. They eat a hurried breakfast-slash-midnight snack and pack as much as they can. Then they're out on the road, restless and sleepless and worried sick. Mama Nelson put on a cd, so they wouldn't have to talk but they end up talking anyway. Mostly circular, who would do this, how could this happen, are you sure he's going to be okay? And the accusatory, how long have you known something was wrong, Franklin?

  
He's certain he's too old for crying so hard they have to pull the car over on the side of the road. But it happens in Virginia, in amongst the signs for daytime-only roadside farm-stands. But Mama Nelson just turns off the car and puts her arms around him and they sit there and watch the sun come up. He confesses that they'd fought and he'd walked out. That Matt was really upset and he'd known he should have gone back to apologize, but Matt wasn't answering his phone. And now this.

“It's going to be okay, Foggy,” she says eventually. “You two are going to work out. Whatever it was, it doesn't really matter right now. We've got to be strong for Matthew, okay?”

And then they drive the rest of the way to Pennsylvania, only stopping at a pancake place for a proper breakfast around eight and an emergency directions call to Candace. The roads get worse and worse with potholes and poor signage and rumbly gravel over everything. Worse and worse and the cornfields and hayfields and wheat fields get thicker till that's about the only thing around except occasional houses and pharmacies and too many banks. Till they get to the hospital where Matty is.

 

* * *

 

“I'm here.” The first thing he says.

“Foggy,” Matt says. He doesn't sound like himself. More painful and rumbly and it hurts to look at him. “I thought you wouldn't come.”

“Of course I'd come. You're my best friend.”

“Nuhh,” Matt mumbles. “You don't have to, pretend, because of this. S'okay.”

“Matt, I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“You don't have to stay, I understand. You don't have to pretend to like me because I'm hurt. I'm okay.”

“Matt, that is the stupidest sentence I have ever heard. We didn't drive here at one in the morning because I'm 'pretending' to be your friend. I am your friend. I was mad and I got over it. We can talk about it later, when you're better.”

Matt smiled, just a bit at the corners of his mouth. “I believe you.”

 

* * *

 

Matt went to sleep and they started panicking less and worrying more about the incidentals of the moment. Where were they going to sleep? When would Matt be able to come back to the house? Was there anywhere to get coffee in this teeny-tiny farming town?

At some point a woman, muddy jeans and grey t-shirt wandered in. Her hair was grey and tied up in a bun. She was carrying an old tupperware container balanced on her hip. “Good morning,” she said. “Are you Matt's people?”

“I'm Foggy Nelson. This is my mother, Anna. I'm Matt's friend from college.”

“Nadia Bhandari.” They shook hands. “I was the one who found Matt, we've all been keeping an eye on him while we were waiting for you to get here. I have been wondering what a foggy was all night.”

She settled down in the chair by the corner. “Sandwiches, anybody?” It turns out Matt had been refusing hospital food and he wouldn't reveal his favorite sandwich toppings so she'd just made everything and there you go. They all settled in and ate and waited for Matt to wake up and eat his sandwich. Anna and Nadia chatted and somehow it was agreed that they could sleep in her guest room until Matt was feeling better.

“He's looking better already,” Nadia commented. “I mean, not great, but I recommend not looking at the photos Gerald took when they first checked him in.”

“Gerald?” Anna inquired politely.

“Gerald Hooper, one of our police officers.”

“Ah.”

“The fifteen minutes between calling the ambulance and them getting there, that was the worst of it.” She smiled, fussing with the cover of the paperback she'd brought with her. The smile was strained. “Figured out why he'd crawled into the road. Asked him last night. Literally into the road, blocking the middle of both lanes. Turns out the first two cars had driven right past.”

She shook her head. “If I knew who they were, well. That would be another story.”

She left after a bit, something about her father and picking up tomato cages and setting up the guest room. But she left her address and phone number and the tupperware of sandwiches. Anna Nelson had gone out for a walk when Matt woke up.

The first thing he says: “Why are there cucumber sandwiches?”

“Huh. You were telling the truth. You can sense sandwiches! Nadia brought sandwiches. How many other flavors can you sense?”

“Smell, Foggy. You smell sandwiches. It's not the force.”

“But how many can you smell, young Padawan?”

“Umm,” Matt stopped and breathed deeply. He did look a bit more human now. The sunburn had to be killing him though, blistered up and peeling and gross. “Peanut butter. Tuna. Turkey, I think? Cucumber. Egg salad, maybe. I'm really hoping these are a bunch of sandwiches and not one disgusting sandwich.”

“No Matt, that is all one sandwich. And you, the guest of honor, are expected to eat that sandwich.”

Matt shuddered again and Fogy was starting to worry that he kept doing that. Every time someone touched him, silly things Foggy said, footsteps out in the hallway. Little things. Foggy was going to maim people.

Matt pulled it together in a moment and said, “Noooo, Foggy. I cannot eat the terrible sandwich. My discerning palate will not tolerate such awfulness.” He did it in his best theatrical voice, only scratchier and tired sounding. He continued normally, “Seriously, that is true for the food they serve here. It's awful.”

“How bad can it be?”

“I can taste if people have washed their hands Foggy. Think about it.” He might still be on painkillers, because Matt sounded almost jolly. “Please, I will take anything.”

He was trying to make Foggy feel better, he was almost sure of it. But two could play at that game. “Okay, I'll just assume you like cucumber sandwiches.”

“They're nice.”

“Really?”

“Mm, yeah. Cream cheese and crunchy water with a bit of green to round it off. Water is the nectar of the gods and I don't know why they had to put it in my veins instead of my mouth,” he brushed a finger against his IV. “Is there any water around, Foggy?”

He helped Matt sit up and drink a plastic cup full of water, then eat the two cucumber sandwiches Nadia had packed. It was a bit tricky because Matt refused to admit he couldn't use his hands but had scraped them so badly he really couldn't use his hands.

“What kind of pain meds do they have you on, Matty?” Foggy asked, after. “Your brain to mouth filter is going out the window.”

“What? No. Ibuprofen, I think but only because they said it would reduce the swelling. I get rambly when things hurt but it’s okay. I can stop and be coherent if you want.”

“Matt, why are you not on drugs right now? You should be on so many drugs.”

“I am! I have an IV and everything. And they're giving me something for the burns and I took the ibuprofen.”

“But real drugs. Matt, I hurt just looking at you,” this is not a conversation he ever imagined having with a roommate. Please take drugs. You're in pain and it's driving you crazy and I don't know what to do.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“They did.”

“Matt, I am so confused. Who did what?”

“Drug me. Look, I can't-I have to not panic. The doctor said I should, to not panic. Because I pulled my IV out and there was blood and the nurse freaked. So not panicking. The morphine was making me panic. Pain is very distracting.”

“Oh, Matt.” He took Matt's hand and Matt squeezed. It was one of his bandaged hands, but Matt smiled like it didn't hurt. Or like it hurt and that's what he needed just then. Things he'd never imagined thinking about a roommate of his.


	6. POV: Misty, except that bit where it's Colleen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only chapter that needed substantial editing for the rewrite. There's actually a 67,000 U-1 visa backlog, but ignore that so that we can have a happy ending, alright y'all?
> 
> It's probable that this isn't how police reports or trials or recorded witness testimony works.
> 
> Last chapter! This is the end of the Powerless inspired stuff. There's a continuation that's mostly done, but everyone does their best to not talk about the stuff that happened here. For obvious reasons. The continuation is much more focused on the alternate continuity of Matt telling people his secrets. Also there's lots of fluff in with the angst.
> 
> The ending here isn't super concrete, because there's at least 20K that needs to go after it. But thematically, it splits here.

Public transportation into rural Pennsylvania was hellish. The train to Philly wasn't so bad, but after it was infrequently run rural buses. For the last leg of the trip, Anna Nelson had to swing by and pick them up. Colleen had come with, nothing to do on the weekend if you're out of state. Misty was fairly certain there'd never been a black woman on some of those buses before, the way people stared. Or maybe it was her hair. Or maybe they just didn't get many strangers.

Before they left they'd packed up a little suitcase with as many of Matt's things as they could fit. A quick call to Foggy helped them pick. Yes, clothes, toiletries, don't bother with the laptop, do bring Matt's mp3 player for audiobooks. Unfortunately he was going to be out a watch, his glasses and his cell phone. But Misty recovered the wallet from the police and brought it with them.

When they got to Matt's room, Foggy was off sleeping at some local's house. There was a radio playing softly, jazz interspersed with static fizz. Matt lifted his head as they came in. “Hello?” he said.

“Hey Matt, it’s Misty and Colleen.” He looked vulnerable without the glasses. Smaller. Misty had brought his spare pair, she pushed them into his hands.

Matt quirked his head for a moment, studying the present, then smiled and slipped them on. “Thanks. And thanks for coming out here, there was really no need. Foggy and his Mom are already here.”

“Matt, we're friends,” Misty insisted.

“We're exes.”

“You set me up with the cutest gal in New York City. We're friends.”

Colleen nodded, blushing. “I second that motion, except that Misty isn't cute. She’s sexy. Except when she's sleepy and you make her breakfast.”

“What do you want?”

“Matt, I'm not here because I want something. We're here because we want to be with you.”

The bruises were mostly yellow-green by then, except for his face which persisted into purple. They sat and talked about nothing for  a while, mostly about dates and acquaintances and Colleen's father's most recent field study. Misty waited hours before broaching the subject of work.

“Matt, I know you refused to talk to the police. Do you know who did this?”

He set his jaw. “No.”

“Matt, they're still out there. What they did, they must have planned for you to die out there. The kind of people who would do that ought to be in jail. That's attempted murder.”

“I don't know them.”

Colleen took her cue and headed out for coffee, leaving with a peck on Misty's cheek.

“Matt. We know from your priest that this probably started because a guy was threatening one of your students.”

“I don't-” he took a steadying breath. “I can't.”

“Matt, if you just tell us which of the student’s you’re working with was involved, that would be enough. We could take it from there.”

He shook his head. There was a silence that stretched on.

“Who was the girl, Matt?”

“There was no girl,” he whispered. “Please don't tell Foggy.”

“Matt, I understand that you want to keep her safe. But whatever she’s got hanging over her hand isn’t as important as attempted murder. Your priest thought she might be an illegal-”

“Goddamn invasion of privacy, that is supposed to be-”

“Matt, he thought you'd been murdered. He said you'd heard this woman was being blackmailed by her ex and that you were going to meet with the head of his fraternity. Is that not what happened?” Misty asked.

“I can’t give her up just for this. She trusted me. She trusted me not to stick my nose into things and to let her figure it out herself. It doesn’t matter.”

“Matthew, you matter, so yeah, it matters if people hurt you. But beyond that, do you not see that people like that will just keep escalating if we capitulate? They could try again. They could hurt this woman you’re protecting. They could actually murder someone.”

Matt was back to picking at the bedsheets. He looked awful, mostly weighed down by that earlier sentence.  _They could hurt someone else._ “Can I talk to her about this first? I think it should be her decision as well.”

“Matt-”

“I was so scared I was going to die. But more than that, I was so disappointed that I managed to ruin someone else’s-” He tried to take a deep breath, but it caught in his throat. “I can't. Not until I know she’ll be safe. I can't.”

She left before he started crying, because that's what he would have wanted. She thought.

She could understand Matt's reluctance to testify. He didn't want to be perceived or admit he had been a victim. The easiest way to do that was to grab heroism by the throat and never let go. And Misty had some complicated feelings about immigration and imperialism and was pretty sure whoever this woman was, she didn’t deserve to be dragged into this. But murder. Murder is pretty hella serious and Misty wasn't about to sit around and let anyone conspire to murder people and get away with it. Especially not her friends. Hell no.

It took most of a week for Matt to coordinte with the anonymous student (he refused to tell any of them who it was) and a Brooklyn based immigration legal aid firm. In the end, Matt chose to file a report and she agreed to testify on his behalf. It turns out there was a type of visa just for situations like this – a U-1 visa for illegal immigrants who have been assaulted or threatened and who cooperate with the police investigation.

Matt filed the police report the next day,  privately. Then he went out by himself, against Foggy's stringent objections, to meet with this woman and her family. He returned to his tiny apartment where they were waiting for him in the late evening, carrying a grocery bag filled with food.

“They think I did her a favor,” he said bitterly as they sat at the table. “All I did is fuck everything up, and they think I was the one...I almost had to call you and get picked up,” Matt admitted. “I heard someone laughing down the street and I freaked out.” He tapped his fingers on the table.

“What you went through was pretty fucking traumatic, Matt. It's okay if you freak out about it.” Foggy said firmly.

Misty frowned. “Honestly, not to tell you your business, Matt, but I think you should probably get some sort of emotional support. You have scarily low self-esteem.”

“He offered to drive me home,” Matt said, a sudden non-sequitor. “One of the guys at the fraternity. They agreed that this guy was out of line, said they'd talk to him and offered to drive me home. I knew something was wrong,” Matt whispered. “I knew it. There was something in the way he offered, it just seemed wrong. But I...I thought maybe it would be better if I just went away.”

“But you know that's not true now, right?” Foggy said.

“Yeah. I realized that the minute I knew I was alone in that field. I realized they weren't going to kill me, they were going to let me die. And Murdocks never quit.”

The trial progressed slowly and with surprisingly little media attention, given the circumstances. Apparently there's enough horror in the world to fill the news docket every day of the week.  Matt  was reserved and brittle for the next few months, keeping close to Foggy most of the time. He spent the rest of the summer at the Nelson's house.

“They'll get what they deserve” he said to Colleen. She and Misty had been invited to a barbecue at the Nelsons. Matt was cooking, because apparently grilling was a thing he was surprisingly good at. Mr. Nelson hovered a bit, checking that things were indeed cooked, but he mostly let Matt handle it.

“Not convicted yet,” Colleen said.

“But they will be,” Matt predicted. “Almost makes it worth it.”

“Makes what worth it?”

He hummed. “At least it was me and not somebody else. Burger's ready. Plate?”

When she told Misty about the incident that night, Misty had shrugged. “He's got issues, I knew that when we were dating. Just give him time. I think that friend of his is going to put his head on straight eventually.”

“I thought we didn't like straight,” Colleen whispered.

“I don't want you to be straight. The rest of the world can fuck who they want. And you know what I meant.”

“But I was derailing! On purpose. That was secret code for 'kiss me, Misty'.”

“So subtle.”

“I am so subtle.”

“You are a dork, Colleen Wing. A dork.”

And so Misty and Colleen did their best to mind their own business, which was very busy and all that, and give Matt the space he seemed to need.


End file.
